Chi Trova
by tath-chan
Summary: Gokudera doesn't know when it happened, how it happened, or how he could have stopped it. All he does know is that at some point he started to classify Yamamoto as something other than a rival-slash-enemy. Gen, rated for Gokudera's vocabulary.


_Hello, friends! This is my first foray into KHR fanfic, but hopefully not my last. Please let me know if anyone sounds terribly out of character or if you catch any gaping grammatical mistakes! This is my first fanfic in a while, so I hope to see you guys around again soon.  
_

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

"_Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro." _

_He who finds a friend, finds a treasure._

- Italian proverb

**Chi Trova**

Gokudera doesn't know when it happened, how it happened, or how he could have stopped it. All he does know is that at some point he started to classify Yamamoto as something other than a rival-slash-enemy. He'll die a painful, bloody death before calling him a _friend_ out loud, but in the privacy of his own mind, and for the sake of intellectual honesty, he has been forced to admit it: they are friends. Completely dysfunctional friends, but friends nonetheless.

Which is why he is currently standing outside hospital room #203 with a watermelon in a net hanging from one hand. He knows he probably looks stupid just standing there scowling at the door, but he hasn't been able to talk himself into opening it just yet. This is a damn girly thing to do, he thinks darkly: what the hell kind of _mafioso_ makes hospital visits, much less brings food along for the patient? This is one of the reasons he sometimes seriously considers just blowing Yamamoto up and having done with the whole friendship thing.

"Octopus-head! What are you doing here?"

Ugh. Speaking of people he'd like to blow up… Gokudera turns, glare already in place, to greet the only person of his acquaintance who rivals Lambo for sheer volume. Turf-head trots up to him—geez, even his _footsteps_ are loud—and glances in confusion at the door before which Gokudera has been standing way too long.

"Isn't this Yamamoto's room?" Sasagawa's voice is only marginally below his usual roar. "Why aren't you going in?"

"None of your business, Turf-head. Get lost." Dammit, now there's no _way_ he's going in there!

"You're acting extremely weird!" Sasagawa folds his arms and glares back. "You should just go in there and – is that a watermelon?"

"None of your business, I said," Gokudera snarls, hiding the melon too late behind his back. "Anyway, aren't you a patient still, too?"

"Just got discharged," Sasagawa grins, flexing his still-bandaged right arm. "I'm healed to the extreme!"

Then his frown returns and he looks unusually serious. "You should just go in," he says, speaking at a normal volume for what might be the first time since Gokudera has known him. "Sawada and I have already seen him today, but you can't have too many visits from friends!"

Gokudera jumps at hearing the word spoken out loud. "I-idiot! Who said we were friends?"

Sasagawa gives him a look like _he's _the idiot. Which is just insulting. "You don't have to say it for it to be true," he replies in that same quiet tone. It might be the words, or it might be the shock of hearing such insight spoken by one of the densest people he's ever met, but either way Gokudera finds himself momentarily speechless.

And then Sasagawa grins and slaps his hands down on Gokudera's shoulders and completely destroys that brief semblance of intelligence and normalcy. "FRIENDS SHOULDN'T BE SHY AROUND EACH OTHER!" he bellows, and before Gokudera can protest or reach for his nearest stick of dynamite, Sasagawa has slid the door open and shoved him inside the room. "YAMAMOTO, YOU HAVE A VISITOR!"

And with that, he slides the door shut and is gone, leaving Gokudera and Yamamoto staring at each other for a moment before Gokudera turns silently to the wall and bangs his forehead against it. Just once, with feeling.

"Er… Gokudera?"

Gokudera ignores the voice, keeping his burning face against the cool white wall and wondering if the Tenth would be alright if he decided to blow _himself_ up right here.

"Gokudera, are you okay?" Concern is creeping into Yamamoto's voice, but it barely registers over the raging embarrassment. "…Is that watermelon?"

Having forgotten that he still had it, Gokudera looks up reflexively, confused for a second. And now they've made eye-contact again, and he can't ignore the baseball-idiot anymore. "Uh, yeah," he replies lamely. Yamamoto looks way too pleased with that, so he goes on the defensive. "Don't get the wrong idea! I just had an extra watermelon I needed to get rid of before it goes bad, that's all."

"Sure." And it annoys the _hell_ out him that Yamamoto just accepts that utterly pathetic lie with a smile and a look that says _I know that's not true, but I'll pretend it is because I'm a nice guy and/or I don't feel like picking a fight right now._

"If you don't want it," he adds, trying to sound nonchalant but pretty sure he doesn't quite make it, "I'll give it to Turf-head or somebody."

He is utterly mortified by the sudden worry he feels as he waits for Yamamoto's answer. He doesn't know what the baseball-idiot's favorite food is, so he went with his own out of desperation. Now it seems like his first stupid move of the day, the beginning of what looks to be a trend.

"No, no, I want it!" Yamamoto beams at him, almost looking back to normal except for the spectacular black eye, butterfly stitches along a thin cut at his hairline and the ugly multi-colored bruises that mottle one side of his face from temple to cheekbone. "Thanks, Gokudera!"

"Whatever, I told you I didn't get it for you," Gokudera mutters, ducking his head in case some of his relief shows on his face. He puts the melon on the bedside table, shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles back a few steps.

Silence ensues, the kind that makes even breathing seem too loud, but just as Gokudera is wondering if it could possiblyget more awkward, Yamamoto, thankfully, breaks it. "So… you look better." His voice is light but a little bit hesitant, and he lets the statement hang there like some kind of peace offering.

Purely out of a desire to keep another awkward silence at bay (and _not _because he does actually want to get on friendlier ground), Gokudera accepts it as such. "Of course," he says in the mildly annoyed tone that is really as close as he can get to normal. He comes over to sit in the chair beside the bed before he realizes what he is doing. "Unlike some people, I'm not stupid enough to get myself hospitalized because of a fight with lightweights."

And by "lightweights"he means the dozen or so vengeful _yakuza _who'd caught him, Sasagawa and the baseball-idiot by surprise on their way back from one of Reborn's weird "training games" a few days ago. The fact that it was dark, that they were exhausted, that the yakuza had the element of surprise and that they _won_, does not make their injuries less pathetic. At least the Tenth hadn't been there to witness it.

"Ahahaha." It sucks how much Yamamoto's stupid laugh makes him relax. "You did get yourself some stitches, though."

Self-consciously, Gokudera scratches at the thin line of stitches along his right cheekbone; one of the yakuza had managed to tackle him after a lucky swipe to his face with a knife, resulting in a cut that had turned out to be a lot deeper than he'd thought. It was his only real injury, though, besides a few bruises, scrapes and burns.

"Just a scratch," he mutters, tensing up again as he realizes where this subject is headed.

Yamamoto's brows lower slightly into a troubled look that is both disconcerting and kind of… touching, since he knows the cause. Gokudera hates himself a little bit for the thought.

"It didn't look like a scratch at the time," Yamamoto says—_and here it comes_. "There was an awful lot of blood, you know. And you were on the ground so senpai and I couldn't see around the yakuza guy on top of you." He laughs a little, the sound humorless and strange, and rubs the back of his head sheepishly. Neither gesture does anything to diminish the seriousness underlying his words. "I guess I kind of panicked a little, huh."

Gokudera looks away, guiltily. Yeah, Yamamoto had panicked, and gotten himself a pretty solid blow to the head from another assailant as a result (the irony of the weapon being a baseball bat was going to be a source of endless jabs in the future, but right now not it was not even up for consideration). And then Sasagawa had just about gotten his dominant arm broken while trying to defend both of them.

It all happened in a matter of seconds and things might have gone further downhill if Gokudera had not finally managed to break knife-guy's nose, shove him off, and send his rocket bombs after the remaining yakuza. By that point Yamamoto and Sasagawa were both on the ground attempting to rise, and the fact that he'd thrown himself on top of them to shield them from the blast did not in any way redeem him from having been the cause of their injuries, as far as he was concerned.

"Gokudera?" Yamamoto sounds concerned again, and Gokudera realizes he hasn't said anything for a few minutes. Well, what is there to say? _"Yeah, sorry I was stupid and almost got you and Turf-head killed?" _Actually, that about covers it.

"Look," he begins, still looking anywhere but at the person sitting in the bed. "I—"

"It wasn't your fault," Yamamoto cuts him off, and Gokudera can't help but look up in surprise, first because Yamamoto never cuts people off, and second because the baseball-idiot actually sounds _stern_. He looks stern, too, which is an expression Gokudera has only seen a few times, and usually directed at an enemy. Now that he's getting the full force of it himself, he realizes with a small jolt of shock that it's pretty damn intimidating.

"We all let our guard down," Yamamoto continues, "so we're all responsible for our own injuries, not for anybody else's." He softens his voice and smiles a little, apologetically. "I did panic when I saw you go down, so it's nobody's fault but mine that I got hurt."

Uncomfortable, the best Gokudera can come up with is, "Stupid. I was fine."

"You didn't look fine!" Yamamoto retorts with unexpected heat. "You were bleeding all over the place and the guy on top of you was like twice your size and really, really mad. _Plus _he was sitting on both your arms. For a second I really didn't think you were gonna get out of that."

"Give me a break!" Gokudera bursts out, startling both of them. He didn't really mean to yell, but Yamamoto just went from mildly alarming him to seriously pissing him off. "You know me better than that! Like hell I'd be taken down by some two-bit yakuza trash. I'm the Tenth's right hand man—how could I protect him if I was that weak?" He turns away again and his voice abruptly deflates. "Come on, don't insult me."

Funny, amidst all the guilt he's been feeling he hadn't even thought about this side of the whole thing, and now that he has it _stings_. It stings to know that he is so underestimated by his only real rival for the position of the Tenth's right hand—and worse, by someone whose opinion, he suddenly realizes, he holds a lot higher than most. Does Yamamoto really think so little of him?

A hand lands on his shoulder and tugs him back in Yamamoto's direction. Without meaning to he looks up, and he can tell by the remorse in Yamamoto's eyes that he didn't hide his expression quick enough. "Gokudera," says the baseball-idiot, almost a sigh. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant." Apparently assured that Gokudera won't turn away again, he withdraws his hand. He seems to be trying to find the right words, and then he gives up. "Look, it had nothing to do with your own strength. I _know _you're strong."

Gokudera furrows his brow, confused and still a little hurt. "Then why?"

"Because it was dark, and we were all tired, and even really strong people don't live forever!"

Taken aback by Yamamoto's intensity, Gokudera blinks and has no response. Yamamoto smiles, but it's a serious smile and a hell of a lotscarier than his earlier stern look. Gokudera finds himself gulping very quietly.

"Being strong doesn't mean someone won't someday get the upper hand, or catch you by surprise, or just get lucky. I panicked because I was afraid that was what had happened." He rubs the back of his head again, and Gokudera wonders suddenly if it's just his usual goofy gesture or if it's because his head still hurts.

"You're right, though," Yamamoto goes on, smile suddenly not scary but somewhere between warm and apologetic. "I did underestimate you a little. But I guess I was too worried about losing a friend to think straight. Sorry."

Well, there it is. Yamamoto's gone and said it out loud, and now the ball is in Gokudera's court. This is the part, he thinks, where he snarls about not being friends and then picks a fight to get things back to normal.

Only, for once he really has no inclination to do so, because he's too wrapped up in how bizarrely happy those words make him feel. It's different, hearing himself called a friend by someone _he _only recently acknowledged as such. He didn't expect it to mean so much, but damn if he doesn't feel warmth spreading across his cheeks and, screw the cliché, filling his chest.

He finally catches himself gaping and attempts to bring his face back under some sort of control. For some reason his usual scowl seems impossible right now, though, so he is forced to settle on an expression that was heretofore reserved solely for the Tenth. It isn't quite a smile, but it softens the hard lines of his face and eases some of the tension in his shoulders too.

"Who're you kidding," he says finally, because a response is required and he feels that now is the time to bring back _some _normalcy to the conversation. "You never think straight, baseball-idiot." At a later time, he will probably be horrified by the fondness that creeps sneakily into the words, along with the quieter _I'm sorry_. Yamamoto, for all his usual denseness (however much of which is faked), definitely hears both and his smile finally returns to the big goofy one Gokudera knows and not-quite-hates.

"Ahahaha, you're so mean," he protests mildly. Gokudera is pretty sure he's not imagining the undertone of _We're good_ and _Thanks_ in the phrase. He's _definitely_ not imagining the little nod that follows it, filled with a whole bunch of other similar sentiments that all combine to tell him firmly and without question that they're good. Friends. It doesn't seem quite as troubling a concept as before.

"Whatever," he says, failing completely to put any bite into the words or suppress the (small) smile that has been tugging at his mouth for a while.

And with that, he decides, it's time to go. His manly _mafioso _pride is looking dangerously shaky as it is; much more of this and it'll be weeping in a corner. He stands up, wincing a little at the stiffness of healing bruises, and reaches for a cigarette. It's more out of habit than anything, for once.

"You're not supposed to smoke in hospitals," Yamamoto points out with no force whatsoever as he lights up.

Gokudera flips him a lazy bird and heads for the door. "Shut up, I'm leaving."

Then he pauses, engages in some internal fisticuffs and finally spins around because there's one last thing that has to be said and this is the last chance he will ever allow himself to say it. "If you're so worried about someone getting the upper hand someday, then watch my back and quit underestimating me. You're no good to me if you get yourself killed doing something stupid, so use your head next time, moron. I can handle myself. You're just back-up."

Yamamoto stares, taken aback, then chuckles. "Got it," he says sheepishly. "Sorry."

Gokudera snorts. "Seriously. Underestimate me again and I'll kick your ass."

"Okay, okay." Yamamoto raises his hands in surrender, still smiling but managing to look less goofy than usual. A hint of the samurai Gokudera knows he is surfaces in the brown eyes. "But it goes both ways, you know. I've got your back, you've got mine."

Gokudera nods firmly. "Of course."

Their eyes meet in a rare moment of understanding. Satisfied, Gokudera then heads for the door again and tosses one last parting shot over his shoulder. "So hurry up and get out of here, baseball-idiot."

"Ahahaha, you're such a worrywart, Gokudera."

"Who's worrying? I just want you doing your job—"

"OCTOPUS-HEAD! YOU SHOULDN'T YELL IN THE HOSPITAL!"

"You're the one yelling, Turf-head, and who invited you anyway?"

"I CAME TO MAKE SURE YOU WEREN'T TRYING TO BEAT UP YAMAMOTO! I WANT MY FRIENDS TO GET ALONG IN THE EXTREME!"

"F-friends? Since when?"

"Ahahaha, we're gonna get kicked out. Hey, you guys wanna have the watermelon now?"

"I LOVE WATERMELON TO THE EXTREME!"

"What the – hey, I didn't get it for _him_—"

"Oh, so you _did_ get it for me."

"…Shut up!"

_- Fine -_


End file.
